How Many Times
by Specter-Paulsen
Summary: "I never told you how many times I thought about us being together over the years." Here are some of the times...
1. Chapter 1

**I was inspired by Donna's line; "I never told you how many times I thought about us being together over the years". And it occurred to me that this would make an incredible series. So here we go. A selection of short drabbles which I'll post as and when they're ready. To start with, here are four moments that practically wrote themselves. **

**Big love to Nat for being my best cheerleader. **

* * *

.

When she's with Stephen, she thinks of Harvey. She doesn't mean to, but it happens. They're so similar in so many ways that she can't help but make comparisons.

She also can't help comparing their sexual prowess. Stephen is _good_, but Harvey… that night in their past is one she recalls so vividly, a benchmark for all men to aspire to. Very few measure up. Neither literally nor figuratively. So she fantasises. She's not ashamed of it. Men brag about it, so why should women be ashamed? Of course, she'd never tell a soul that it was _Harvey _she was fantasising about.

It makes it harder to face him at work. The fantasies have her blood thundering through her veins and she's grateful for the outlet Stephen provides, that she can close her eyes and imagine it's Harvey that's thrusting into her, Harvey's warm weigh on her body, Harvey's breath in her ear.

She's home alone one night and she flicks on the tv as she sits down with a bowl of lobster ravioli. There's a movie on and James Marsden catches her eye immediately. She's seen this movie before but it takes her a moment to place it. _Best of me_, that's what it's called. She's watching without too much thought when a particular movement makes her sit up straight. Her heart speeds up a little as the actor removes his shirt and she has a brief flash in her mind of Harvey making a similar movement ten years ago. She watches the sex scene with renewed interest, and it's then that she realises how Harvey-esque James Marsden's jaw is. She sets her bowl aside, and her hand drifts idly to cup her crotch over her leggings, feeling the heat emanating from her centre. She shifts her fingers gently, feeling the familiar thrill of pleasure rippling through her.

She reaches for the remote, flicking the TV off and making her way to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and laying down, her fingers finding their way between her legs again. She closes her eyes and conjures up an image of Harvey from _the other time_, naked and hard, his impressive cock in his hand, stroking slowly, teasingly. A breathy sigh escapes her as her mind begins to run away, shifting from memory to fantasy.

"_This is all for you," he rasps in a low voice, stroking his length, "this is what you do to me. This is how much you turn me on."_

"_Harvey," she breathes in response, watching him advance on her, his eyes dark with arousal. _

"_I want to taste you," he growls, crawling between her spread legs and closing his mouth over her, his tongue flicking at her clit._

She mirrors the imagined movements of Harvey's tongue with her fingers, flicking her clit quickly, dipping into her wetness for added lubrication.

"_You taste like heaven," he whispers against her pussy, his breath tickling her flesh and making her shudder at the sensation. He pushes a finger inside her, testing, and then immediately adds another, curling them to press against the spot that makes her let out a guttural moan, the feeling sending pre-orgasmic shockwaves through her. He carries on lapping at her, fingering her rhythmically to build her steadily toward orgasm. _

She lets out a breath, pushing her hips toward her hand, a thrusting motion accompanying the movement of her fingers on her clit. Her other hand moves to her breast, squeezing the flesh hard before rolling the nipple between her fingertips.

"_Donna," Harvey growls, looking up at her, his face wet with her juice and he grins at her, his face splitting wide in the smile that lights her up from the inside. And speaking of lighting her up from the inside ... his fingers speed up in her vagina, stroking her g-spot rapidly and she bucks against him, her orgasm building _fast_. His lips close over her clit again and he sucks lightly, sending her flying over the edge, her body tensing and then pulsing under his ministrations._

Her imagined orgasm brings her to the brink and a few more quick flicks has her climaxing, a low moan tumbling from her lips as she keeps up the movement of her fingers, prolonging her orgasm until she's spent, arms falling limply at her sides, Harvey's face still prominent in her minds eye.

Her hand hovers over her phone and she realises she doesn't know who she was planning to call; Harvey, the object of her desire? Or Stephen, the current key to releasing that desire? She rolls her eyes and draws her hand back. No, tonight she's not calling anyone. Tonight, it's just her.

* * *

.

Later that night she thinks about how "boyfriend" Harvey's actions had been. Picking her up, buying her flowers, watching her play even though he hates Shakespeare, letting his hand sit low on her back as they talked with her cast mates afterward. That touch had set her blood aflame, sending heat burning through her body from the ignition point as though she were made of kerosene. The arsonist himself had no inkling of the effect he was having on her. Even now, an hour later, she can still feel the heat, moving through her and settling between her thighs. She closes her eyes briefly, recalling the car ride home; of course he'd insisted on seeing her safely to her apartment.

"_You were spectacular tonight. Really," he turns his head towards her, his hand positioned on the seat, dangerously close to her thigh. _

"_Thank you," she replies, the gentle smile she gives him for his eyes only. _

"_You should've been doing more theatre all this time."_

"_I've been a little busy," she quips, raising her eyebrows at him. _

"_I'm sorry," he says, a rare moment of candor. _

"_I'm kidding, Harvey."_

"_I know. But I shouldn't have taken up so much of your life these last eleven years."_

"_I don't mind," she says, her voice dropping a little as she realises that she _really _hasn't minded. She's spent more hours with him than without and she's never minded at all. He's a huge part of her life. An important part of her life. Without realising, she lets out a sigh._

"_Are you okay?" he asks, concern in his gaze as he reaches out and then drops his hand, unsure where he'd been intending to place it. _

"_I'm fine," she shakes her head, embarrassed he'd caught her, "just tired, I guess. It's been a long week."_

She'd felt something between them in the car. She wonders if he'd felt it too. There was a tension, a crackling in the air, but also a softness she didn't often see in him, an intimacy she hadn't felt in a long time.

She becomes aware of a longing in her heart, an ache that can only ever be associated with Harvey and she takes a long breath in, filling her lungs to their fullest in an attempt to dispel the pain. She can still feel the heat of him standing beside her, his palm splayed on her back, the warmth radiating through her dress and into her vascular system. She rubs her thighs together, the dull throb between them driving her to distraction.

The arousal in her body is in direct contrast to the ache in her heart and she doesn't know which will overpower her first. Many a night has been spent dreaming of him, her hand between her legs, her thighs quivering as she reaches her release. Not for the first time, she wonders about all the wonderful orgasms she's been missing out on by not being with him all these years.

Almost as if he knows she's thinking of him, her phone lights up and his name shows on the screen.

"You only left here a half hour ago," she quips by way of greeting when she answers the call.

"I know." His voice is low and her heart aches for him. She knows that sound. He needs someone. And as usual, she fills that role.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," he replies, falling into their usual pattern, pretending nothing is amiss.

"You want to hear what your schedule looks like tomorrow?"

"Nah," he says with a sigh and she pictures him settling back in his favourite chair. She knows he'll have a glass in his hand, probably three or more fingers of scotch swirling inside. Her belly clenches when her brain conjures up an image of _his _fingers swirling inside _her. _She shakes her head to clear it. Damn this man.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asks after a long than average pause.

"You okay?" he asks, a tone of confusion coming through the phone line. She grits her teeth. Of all the times for him to be perceptive, he picks now.

"I'm fine," she says, forcing cheer into her voice. She rolls to her side, the phone wedged between her head and the pillow. It's not uncommon for one of them to fall asleep during their late night phone calls and she suspects that after the long week of rehearsing and performing, it's likely to be her. She stifles a yawn as Harvey speaks again.

"Tell me again how you got the idea to put _Louis _in the play?"

"Harvey…" she rolls her eyes but can't help chuckling, knowing full well he hadn't listened the first time she'd told him. She launches into the story, Louis' stage fright, his knowledge of all Shakespeare's works, how she'd wanted to do something for him after all the help he'd given her with her lines.

"You're so good to him," Harvey says softly, "you're too good to all of us."

"It's my job," she brushes off the compliment and the feeling it stirs inside her.

"It's not. Not to that extent."

She stays silent, unsure what to say. This isn't territory either of them are familiar with. He clears his throat.

"Sorry," she says, feigning a yawn.

"I should let you sleep."

"It's okay." It's _always _okay, and they both know it. As they settle in their familiar pattern, the arousal in her body abates and she remembers exactly why she doesn't push him for a relationship. This is how they are, and for now, that's enough.

* * *

.

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For twelve years."

He's walking away and the words are still sinking in… _for twelve years_… he's thanking her for being by his side all that time. He's thanking her for being his moral compass. Hes thanking her for coffee with vanilla and an always-full decanter of scotch and dinners at Del Posto and evenings eating shitty Thai. He's thanking her for pep talks and backing him up and screening his calls and making him a priority. He's thanking her for not pushing him into something he wasn't ready for. He's thanking her for _them_.

She feels a prickle at the corners of her eyes and casts her gaze skyward, trying to ward off tears. He's never thanked her with that much meaning. She knows he's always appreciated her, and he's shown it, but he's never _said _it.

She wonders once again what could have happened that night if he hadn't left her apartment. Would they be together now? Would she still be on his desk, organising his calendar and giving him pep talks when he was down? Would they be going home together to eat dinner and make love and sleep side by side?

She thinks about what it would be like to wake up next to him. His warm body pressed against her, his gravelly, early morning voice in her ear, convincing her they have time for a quickie before work.

A smile crawls across her face unbidden, the thought of cosy evenings and bright mornings with him causing a warmth inside her that she only feels with him. She knows she loves him. And now she knows he loves her. What she doesn't know is whether those two versions of love are compatible, or even on the same level.

She knows deep down that he's still not ready for what she wants with him. He may never be ready. That much is clear from what happened between them. But it doesn't stop her wondering what their life could have been like together. There's so much about him that drives her crazy but there's also so much she loves about him.

His smile that lights up her day. The way he occasionally snorts a little when he laughs. How good he looks in a three piece suit. How much better he looks when he discards his jacket and tie and rolls up his sleeves. The way he teases her about her taste in music. How he'd happily live on pizza, bagels and coffee if she'd let him. How he's a New Yorker through and through, even if he did grow up in Boston. How he'll fight like hell for something he believes in.

She misses him. It's been three weeks since she left his desk. Three weeks since he said he loves her. Three weeks since she said she loves him. She's still seen him every day but it hasn't been the same. She feels the same prickling inside her eyelids as she realises it may never be the same again.

His thanking her was about forgiveness. She knows that. And maybe that means they can bring back a semblance of normality between them. But it won't be the same. She doesn't work for him anymore. That means that all the things he was thanking her for are over.

Twelve years. Over. But he was still a part of her life. That was the one thing that would never change.

* * *

.

When she hears about Paula she feels like she might be sick. She plasters a smile on her face and pretends she already knew but the minute he's out of the room her expression freezes and then changes, the pain of it stirring in her abdomen. Then Rachel is there and she has to pretend she's okay, pushing aside the stabbing pain she feels inside.

It's later, when she's alone, that she can let her feelings overwhelm her and cry. She curls herself into a ball on her couch and sobs; heaving, racking sobs shaking her body as she lets them out unbidden, the sound escaping her effortlessly. The agony of it is unbearable, knowing he's with someone, knowing he's serious about her. When he was sleeping with every bimbo in New York, it was manageable. Now, he's serious. He wants to make something of this relationship. And that stings. _No, _she thinks to herself, _it doesn't sting, it fucking HURTS. _

She thought he'd known. When she told him she wanted more. She thought he'd understood, picked up the double meaning. But of course he hadn't. He's Harvey.

She's angry too, the sobs coming from a place of rage as well as hurt. He'd run away. She'd given him an opening. She'd given him a chance. And he'd thrown it away.

She thinks about what he's told her and it all starts to slide into place. The timing feels a little too convenient and suddenly she realises why. She offered him more and he ran scared. Straight into the arms of his ex-therapist, of all people. But it makes a sick sort of sense, in a way. Dr Agard had helped him before. She'd got to know him, worked through some of the walls he's constantly putting up against the world. She'd given him a sense of security, for a short while. And now he's chasing that.

Donna shakes her head, wiping her nose on her sleeve in a very unladylike fashion. She couldn't care less. It _doesn't _make sense. It's still sick, sure, but sense? No. Harvey doesn't know what he's doing. He thinks this is what he wants. What he needs. She sighs heavily. There'll be no talking him out of it. She'd learnt that the hard way. Harvey will always make impulsive decisions. It's who he is.

"Goddamnit, Harvey," she says out loud, tears still running, "how could you do this to me?" A fresh wave of sobs overcome her and she lets them come, tears running unbidden down her face.

Tomorrow she'd be composed. Tomorrow she'd be the Donna that everyone expects. But tonight she mourns the loss of something she was finally ready to have and that now might never be hers at all.

* * *

**And there we have it. Let me know your thoughts, give me suggestions for which scenes you'd like to see!**

**Em xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2! A few more scenes for you :)**

* * *

Louis had asked her if she loves Harvey. She's been thinking about it all afternoon. It's complicated, her relationship with Harvey. She's thought about it time and time again; what would have happened if he hadn't asked her to come to Pearson Hardman with him. But she knows he hadn't been ready for what she had wanted with him then. Years of introspection have led her to that conclusion and while she's glad she can make her peace with it, she does wonder often what that life would have been like.

She knows deep down that if he wanted to be with her she'd drop everything and run to him. She loves him so deeply that she couldn't bear to be without him. The last two weeks away from him have been hard. But she's been fuelled by her anger toward him.

She would do _anything _for him, and she did exactly that and was fired for it. And he didn't fight for her. Not like he did for Mike. Not like he would have done for Jessica. Their relationship has always been one-sided. And most of the time she doesn't mind, forgets it, even. But when he pulls shit like this, she questions why she even sticks around. Why she bothers to give him everything and get nothing in return.

She's been fighting tooth and nail to forget about him. She was fired, she doesn't work for him, he doesn't want to be with her, and they were never really friends. So she knows the only way to move on is to forget about him.

And yet, she hasn't had the inclination to look for a new job. A part of her is hoping he'll come to his senses, bring her back. But the more time that passes, the more that possibility melts away.

She's been sitting in this bar for two hours. She's declined three drinks from three men who think they can get into her pants. She almost chuckles out loud when she thinks how wrong they are. Sex is the last thing on her mind right now. She's full of rage. At Louis, for bringing up that shit, at Harvey, for jumping in at the worst possible moment, at Mike, for convincing her to come to the _fucking stupid _mock trial in the first place.

She throws back the remainder of her martini and pushes the glass aside. The bartender looks at her and she shakes her head. She's had too many already and another may just push her off an emotional cliff. She slides off the bar stool and strides smoothly to the exit. She's always been proud of her ability to stay steady on her feet, no matter how high her heels, or her blood alcohol level.

She hails a cab and spits out her address, sitting back against the black leather seat and closing her eyes briefly. His face swims into view in her head and she sighs in annoyance. She really can't catch a break right now. All she can see is his face as he watched Louis question her. His expression; half desperate and half terrified to hear whether she loves him.

"Rough night?" The cabbie asks and she opens her eyes again to meet his in the rear view mirror.

"Rough day," she replies, and for some unknown reason she suddenly wants to tell this stranger everything. "I'm trying to move on from someone and I had to see him today and it just…" she sighs, "it didn't go well."

"Sorry to hear that," the cabbie says, and maybe it's because she's drunk, but he sounds genuine.

"Thank you. I know it's better for me to move on, because he'll never be the man I need, but it hurts, you know?"

"My wife left me last year," the cabbie says with a shrug. "I'm still not over her. I guess it just takes time."

"I'm sorry," she replies.

The cabbie shrugs again. "Like you, I know it's for the best."

"I hope you find peace soon."

"Thank you."

And just like that, the moment is over and she sits back again, staring out the windows at the darkened city streets flashing by. Harvey's face is still in her mind, and she still feels angry about what she'd been out through today. Louis, Mike, Harvey… they're all the same. They just want to _win_. She sighs again and the cabbie meets her eyes in the mirror but then they're pulling up on the corner of her block and so he doesn't say anything. She pays him and thanks him, leaving his car without another word; just another of millions of chance encounters in a New York City day.

When she crosses to her building and spots Mike sitting on the stoop she wishes the ground would open up and swallow her. She curses under her breath as she walks toward him. He hasn't spotted her yet.

"Are you kidding me?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Go home. Shoo. Go the hell home."

Mike gets to his feet. "Look, I didn't know he was going to do that—"

"And if you had known, would you have done one thing differently?"

"I am so sorry."

"Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, _bullshit."_

"Okay, Donna, I'm not—"

"Harvey. I know." Boy, does she know. "But you know what, sweetheart? Maybe you are. And I do not mean that as a compliment." She moves past him to the door.

"Look, I did what I did for the same reason you did what you did. To help Harvey. That's all."

"Well that worked out the same for you as it did for me. Because in case you hadn't noticed, in addition to screwing me, you completely shafted Harvey."

"We had a script."

"Wait. You trusted Louis? _You _trusted _Louis_?"

"Yeah, I thought he would stick to it, yes."

"Well he didn't. And you should have known that because that is just who he is."

"I am sorry but I—" he stops, and then laughs. She stares at him, mouth agape. What the _hell _could be so funny about this? "People are who they are… thank you!" He grabs his bike and she's still struggling to catch up to his train of thought, her mind sluggish with alcohol. "I can fix this!" And he's off, riding away from her while she stands in the doorway, confused as hell.

* * *

Scottie's back. Again. Somewhere along the course of her working relationship with Harvey, Donna has started to distrust Scottie. She swans into town every year or so and toys with Harvey for her own amusement. Of course he never objects, why would he? It's as much fun for him as it is for her. But the fact remains that she uses him and Donna doesn't trust her.

Scottie lies to Harvey. She's done it for years and she's doing it now. Another reason not to trust her. Donna keeps an eagle eye on her, but even with her skills and connections, she can't monitor everything. So when she finds out that Scottie has come with an ulterior motive, she's furious.

Scottie finds her in the file room that day. Donna's hackles rise at the sight of her; this is _her _domain, and this interloper has no business being here. It only gets worse when Scottie asks if Donna's in love with Harvey. Her head spins for a brief moment and then ire floods her body. It's none of Scottie's business what goes on between she and Harvey. It's none of Scottie's business how she feels about him, or how he feels about her. So she lies. She says no.

But she wonders what would happen if she'd said yes. If she'd told the truth; "yes, Dana. I'm in love ihr Harvey." Would it have resulted in a full-scaled cat fight with hair piling and nails scratching? Would Scottie have walked away? Would it have ended in a battle of wits or an ultimatum issued to the man in question?

She knows that Harvey loves Scottie… in a way. But she also knows they're not well-matched. They're too competitive, too hard-headed. They're not honest with each other, and they don't know how to talk about anything _real. _

But despite all of that, despite her feelings lying restlessly in the shallow grave she buried them in, she helps Scottie. Because she likes to see Harvey smile. And Scottie does make him smile. Sometimes. But she promises herself that when this goes pear-shaped, if it's Scotties fault… there's going to be hell to pay.

* * *

She leaves shortly after the bride and groom, feigning tiredness from the planning, but really it was the emotional roller coaster of the past few days. She's felt off-kilter without him there, and when she sees him walk into the wedding, something clicks back into place, she can breathe fully again, the air reaching deep into her lungs where it's only touched the surface since he's been gone.

When he holds hims arm out to her and she slides her hand into the crook of his elbow, she feels herself fully relax. She feels like a woman whose husband has just returned from war, and she admonishes herself for the comparison. He's been gone three days. And they're not together. His absence and subsequent return should have this much of an affect on her. But her arm in his feels like coming home. It feels safe, comfortable. It feels _right._

He looks happy and relaxed, proud of his protege and friend, but she knows what's coming to him and she can't bear to watch when it does. He's always had abandonment issues, and Mike leaving isn't going to help that. Add that fact that Robert has come on board and is going to want to take Managing partner… she wants to relish in the smile on his face while it lasts.

She watches from a corner of the ballroom when the moment comes. Mike has approached him at the bar and she knows it's happening. She sees the words leave Mike's mouth and watches closely for Harvey's reaction. She's surprised when the two men hug, she'd been half-expecting anger, but he's genuinely happy for his friend and she realises again how far he's come, how much of an affect Mike has had on him, on the man he has become. When Mike walks away, called by his new wife, Donna approaches, sidling up next to her boss, her friend.

They dance together for a long time that night, hearts beating against one another, the pounding in their chests syncing up, although if pressed she'd admit that she's always known her heart beats in time with his.

* * *

She feels hot under the collar after he teases her about strawberries and cream. She hasn't been able to pair those two things together in an innocent manner in twelve years, memories swirling anytime the two words are even mentioned together, which has happened far more often than she'd have liked over the last decade.

But they'd skirted a line with that conversation. They flirt. Often. But this was something else altogether. This was more like the Harvey and Donna of old. Witticisms, banter, the back and forth that was so familiar. It hasn't been like this in a long time and the conversation has been ringing in her head all day, causing a fluttering low in her abdomen that she's tried in vain to ignore.

She's never been the type to watch porn. But what she does do is _read. _She's a performer, a "creative type"; she has a vivid imagination and finds herself most stimulated by erotic stories. That night she Googles a particular combination of words and thanks the internet gods for always having _something _for her.

The story she finds is on a site called Literotica. She's familiar with it, has read work on there before. It's a veritable treasure trove of erotic literature; something for everyone, from specific fetishes through to fan fiction through to bondage through to good old fashioned girl on girl.

She reads the tale of a couple and their strawberry and cream adventure and naturally the faces in her head are hers and Harvey's. It has the desired effect, the warmth between her thighs growing and when she slides a hand inside her underwear, she's unsurprisingly wet.

She reads the story again as she works herself closer and when she feels her climax approaching she closes her eyes, picturing Harvey thrusting inside her, remnants of sticky cream and strawberry juice sticking their skin together, his mouth tasting of the sweet red fruit.

Her climax hits her and she jerks with a low moan, Harvey's face still swimming in her minds eye as she orgasms. It's not the first time and it won't be the last; he's always been fodder for her erotic fantasies. And yet she still feels a shame burning in her, shame at not being able to tell him how she feels, not being able to let him in, let him get close to her heart for the fear he could break it, or worse, that she could break his.

Her breath hitches in her throat. The mere thought of causing him hurt like that makes her stomach turn. He's already in her heart and while she craves him in her bed, it's better like this. For now.

* * *

"Want me to pour us a drink?"

"What do you say we shake it up and make it two?" She smiles at him, returning the grin that's on his face and tries to push down the warmth she feels in her stomach.

They haven't had drinks together in a while and she's missed this part of their relationship. She can't help watching him as he takes up the decanter, pouring into the outstretched glasses. She's aware of the soft smile on her face but she doesn't care because he's smiling back at her the same way.

Not for the first time she thinks about how coupley this feels. She thinks about the rumours that have swirled around them for their entire working relationship and she knows they have merit. She's always known their relationship is special and it's always been more than a professional one. It's always been more than friendly.

It hits her then. Their relationship is a _relationship. _There's a reason it never works with anyone else. There's a reason all their other relationships fail. They will always be too important to one another. All they're missing is the physical, everything else is there.

The thought causes a melancholy to fill her. All they're missing is the physical. There's a kind of ache settling over her like a chill. She wants to feel his arms around her, his breath on her neck, his warmth seeping into her body. She wants it all with him.

She imagines what this could be if they really _were _a couple. Sitting on the couch together, her feet in his lap. Or cuddled up, his arm around her, a shared glass being passed back and forth. She wants to feel his lips pressing against her temple, his soft voice in her ear as he whispers something suggestive.

She's jolted back to reality when he asks her what she's thinking about. "Oh it's nothing," she plasters a smile on her face and taps her glass lightly against his.

"You sure?" He scrutinises her face and she shakes her head, the smile still firmly in place.

"Really, Harvey, you think I'm going to tell you all my intimate secrets?"

She sees him swallow at the word _intimate, _his Adam's apple bobbing sensually and she drifts off again for a moment, her thoughts not entirely pure.

"I think I've had a glimpse into your… intimate secrets… once before," he flirts back and she rolls her eyes at him. He's so easy. And _so _predictable.

"I was young," she shrugs innocently, "I have far more secrets these days. Some things just come with experience."

"I think we both know you're plenty experienced." Harvey gives her that look.

They're treading a fine line now. He's looking at her like she's a snack and it's causing a pulsing between her legs that she wishes she could dispel. Now isn't the time. But maybe that's why now is _exactly _the time. It's late, most people have gone. The work day is long over and they're just two friends catching up over a drink. In a comfortable room with soft lighting and the city lights twinkling outside. She bites the inside of her lip briefly as she thinks that they could have chosen a less poignant, less revealing location. Her office has never felt romantic before now. She takes a large gulp from her glass, feeling the burn of the scotch as it slides down her throat, warming her from the inside out. She says nothing in response to Harvey's previous comment, just gives him a look that tells him he'd better stop if he knows what's good for him. She doesn't know whether she wants him to obey the look or not.

He does obey it. He chuckles and swigs from his glass, settling onto the armchair and unbuttoning his suit jacket. She sits adjacent to him, on the sofa with her legs crossed gracefully. Their knees are mere inches apart and she almost hates herself a little for considering shifting so their legs touch. How desperate must she be for human contact that she's considering bumping her _knee _against him? She sips the scotch again, settling her arm along the side of the couch.

He starts talking about a case and she holds back the sigh of relief that wants to escape. This is familiar, this she can do. Listen to his work talk, make suggestions, laugh at the absurd things his client has done. This is their grounding and it flashes across her mind that maybe right now it's what he needs too.

Their situation may be messy, it may be ambiguous, it may tread and cross multiple lines. But it's _theirs._ And she'll always come back to it. To him. Her safe harbour. Her best friend. Her _Harvey._

* * *

**And there you have it. If there are scenes you want to see Donna's perspective on, feel free to ****suggest**** them to me and I'll see what I can do with them! **


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